The dark calmed me best, but I was out in the open, under the sun’s constant observation. I focused only on my breath and my body, watching my rib cage expand. I released the air that filled my lungs in the slowest, steadiest stream manageable. Over and over I did nothing but breathe. My breath became paintings, poetry. People. Sound. Whatever it needed to be to return the world around me to its proper proportions. It would be too much to tell Aidy I was okay. To embrace my own falsity.

Once the world had halfway restored itself, I tried to apologize, but couldn’t find words beyond the generic “I’m sorry” I shelled out to everyone. She deserved more from me.

“I’m sorry too,” she said back. “We’re not so good at this.” After a beat, she said, “I don’t know if I love Harrison enough,” once again letting me win.

She was always being my big sister. It amazed me she couldn’t see that.

“I know,” I told her, my voice dry and unpracticed. I said it not to be mean, but to let her know she carried the loss of her relationship as I carried Marley. Invisible to everyone who didn’t know how to look. Painfully obvious to those of us that did.

“He’s every part of my life. He’s Cadence. He’s college. At this point, we’re basically one person.”

She was nearly a foot taller than me. Her hair was more like Dad’s, but with Mom’s coloring—soft curls in an incredible shade of red that made strangers stop her on the street. My hair was more like Mom’s, but with Dad’s coloring—that weird texture between wavy and straight, all a shade of walnut brown. We didn’t need to look alike to resemble one another. I knew what it was to be unable to escape someone.

There was a safe way to play out our conversation. I could’ve fed her the lines I’d conditioned myself to say. Something like, “You need to do what’s right for you,” or, “All that matters is that you’re happy,” but I wanted to tell her something authentic, which I hoped she’d know was the rarest gift I had to give. I dug around inside my thoughts until I found a truth I believed. “When you’re locked in a room with no exit, rearrange the furniture.”

She looked at me with a curious squint. “You’re too old to be sixteen,” she told me.

“I was born too old,” I said back.

July 11

Five Years Prior

Marley jumped off the bed and sauntered toward Nick, wrapping his stubby fingers around the black metal. “Officer Cline, I’m so sorry that I’ve been causing trouble,” she purred.

“How did you get this?” Nick asked.

“Guess my dad forgot it.”